Throughout The Entire Ceremony And Reception, Gojo Can’t Keep His Eyes And Hands Off Of You. Maybe

gojo satoru | from a dream pg13, sad (angst lite) fluff, 2.6k summary: gojo satoru isekai’d into your satoru

It’s warm, his senses inform him. Warmer than usual for his afternoon solo nap on his luxury sofa. He twists, a heavy weight moves with him, on his chest.  Alarm doesn’t course through him, knowing his Infinity wouldn’t allow a harmful presence to get this close to him.  His hands have fallen victim to this presence, barely trapped underneath – whatever – it is. There’s a shuffling, a…humanoid shape on top of him? This person, he realizes, is snuggling closer, a cheek and nose nuzzles into his collarbones, a soft hum of “Satoru, cold.”   His fingers twitch, some part of his brain supplying blankets within reach, he pulls the  fabric around you, unclear what is happening. You  lay in dreamland, sleeping so soundly on his chest.  Not a threat, it would seem. He takes the moment to back track because what is this? What kind of illusion? It’s impossible for him to be trapped in a Domain like this?  But why would a curse want to…snuggle him? It’s odd. He can’t even sense cursed energy from you, from the immediate space, from anything really.  His hands tentatively fall to your form, fingers brushing fabric and exposed skin and you offer up even more softness. There doesn’t seem to be a talisman or spell on you, hiding your energy, keeping him plastered into this sofa. He pauses when you shuffle, pushing yourself further into him. Legs happily tangled, and even there, he notes, there’s warmth.  How does he disarm a Domain like this? There’s a ding! He tenses. As if summoned, your head pops up, eyes big, bright, meeting his baby blues with a smile, “They’re ready!”  He feels his hands clench, is it now? Whatever this sinister plan of yours is, hidden in the scent of chocolate and butter? It’s frustrating how the cold invades the space that was occupied by your form, it’s all adding up now, you’re going to do it. Use your energy and attack. He waits and waits, but it never comes. Confused as he sits up, uncharacteristically silent, the floor feels real. The sofa feels too sunken in to be false, a curse can’t create this as imitation. There’s a tv playing a show or movie, he can’t tell, soft trinkets scattering the console it’s perched on. And photos .  Homely, cozy, s…safe?  Where the hell is he? “Satoru, where’d you put the oven mit?” Using his first name, talking like you know him, what a minx of a curse you are. Drawers are being open and closed, he waits for a sinister fog to overtake him, instead the melody of your humming, as you explore the kitchen. The timer gets another ding! He stands, his body feels softer, hands going to his abs, he has them but also, insulation? His arms aren’t as defined, and what is he wearing?

An off brand tshirt and grey sweatpants? What the hell are these Cinnamoroll socks? And bangs in his eyes? His hair is soft and down?  Wasn’t he in his uniform, where’s his bandana, his eyes can’t be exposed to light like this for too long least he get a migraine–you, you’ve done something.  Pads into the kitchen cautiously, catches you removing the tray of cookies and placing them on top of the stove. “Soon as the timer goes off we can have one…although the chocolate looks so melty…” your hand reaches for one, Satoru knows it’s terribly hot and not a good idea, but what’s a curse coming up with such a domestic scene? Why with Satoru? He was at the high school right? Napping on his sofa– A gentle touch and tug at the top of his head, his eyes find you close. Too close, closer than Infinity should ever allow. His hands come to your hips, wanting to put distance between you two, instead steadying your form as you whisk away the cowlick’s in his hair,  moving long bangs away from his eyes. “There you are.” No. He’s not…there’s no reason for you to be looking at him with such soft eyes. This has to be a Domain, you have to be a curse. Why is your skin so human? Half a very warm, perfectly melted chocolate chip cookie is brought to his lips, “I won’t tell anyone.”  The gleam in your eyes a tad mischievous, a bit secretive, all too adoring. He takes a bite, too real to be fake, but what? Did you put poison in this? It’s all too real to be just a dream. Maybe his unconscious has finally caught up to him, maybe sleeping only four hours a day has backfired, maybe – “Satoru?” How do you say his name with such fondness? Like a delicacy. "You feeling okay?” "I’m…confused."  Honest, transparent, hopeful.  It’s stupid, to think a curse would be this docile and kind towards him, and yet, he doesn’t wager his skepticism as reason enough to lie to you. "Naps do that Satoru, I told you.” You’re pouting, putting your arms around his waist, pulling him in. Like a wave crashing to shore, his form greets your warmth again.  His hands around you, bodies sinking towards another, tender, natural. “It’s Saturday, we’re baking for Yuji’s recital, please tell me you charged the camcorder?” Camcorder? Aren’t smartphones enough? How old are you?  “ Kento insisted on it. You told me you kept one from your college days.” College?  “You’re gonna show me your rugby games later, remember?”  “Rugby?”  He sees you narrow your eyes, this is it, he expects the Domain to show it’s real form now, shift into darkness and danger instead, you pull his cheek. You pull his cheek. Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, getting his cheek pulled by someone…shorter than him. “Mr. Strongest Rugby Star, are you a liar Gojo Satoru?” Probably, maybe, but, why is he finding himself blushing? Grinning? “The Strongest doesn’t need to lie.” It’s playful, that eye roll and huff, the crossing of your arms. He doesn’t want to leave the feeling of your arms around him, pulls your hands back on his waist, hold him for a second closer.  So that he’s close enough to disarm your Domain, afterall. Not like he’s succumbed to whatever this Domain is? Whatever, it feels good, domestic, nice.  “Well The Strongest needs to find the camcorder so we can record our god-son Yuji in his first play.” Our? God-Son? Yuji?  Was Satoru fighting a curse with Yuji? Wasn’t he napping in his office? His brows furrow, he notes your head tilt, “Satoru? Baby are you feeling okay?”  

Your hand in his hair might certainly cure anything, wait, wait. That’s not true, you don’t even have RCT!  You don’t have cursed energy, what the hell?! Satoru snaps away, taking in the rest of the apartment. There has to be a loophole, an opening, a miss, no curse can be that human. There has to be a way out of this Domain. "Ryōiki Tenkai–” "What?” Nothing happens. Satoru looks at his fingers, he doesn’t have cursed energy either? He pulls your hands into an odd symbol, your hands lost in the cave he makes for a second before your middle finger is wrapped behind your index finger, “Say Ryōiki Tenkai.” “Satoru?....Ryōiki Tenkai?” He shakes his head, “No, with more confidence.” “Ryōiki Tenkai.”  You shake your hand a little, smiling up at him, it’s…cute. “Of course if this is already your Domain…and it depletes my cursed energy, there must be a seal I need to break…” mumbling to himself, you do that head tilt again, biting your lip, hand easily finding his cheek. “You okay Satoru?”

At his grin your frown only deepens.  He’s off. Maybe he got lost in one of his documentaries about physics and space, maybe it was something he read, you’re not too sure. Your Satoru tends to go all in once his attention is turned on.  You sigh. “Mmm… I don’t buy it but we need to get going. Where’d you put Yuji’s gift?” He makes a face, “Why would Yuji need a gift?” You shake your head, “I think it was in the closet right?  You hid it when you babysat him last time.” “I don’t babysit anymore…” Perhaps he can irritate you into loosening up your Domain.  You’re an odd curse, all life-like, all human.  It’s an interesting form you’ve taken on, someone cute, someone Satoru would chicken out of talking to. He can’t involve others in the life he leads.  Is that your Domain? Showing him something he’s stuffed away into the bottom of his heart? Meanwhile you’re taking his eccentricity for a conversation later. Lack of sleep? Lack of food? Lack of light, you turn on your heels that pauses his movements, he seems to brace himself – still with that odd grin. “When was the last time you showered?” Satoru lifts his arm to smell himself, “I smell clean.”   It’s not his usual cologne or deodorant combination but it’s nice, softer.  You lean in to smell him too, “You used my perfume again.” He? Again?  No, this is the first time he’s been trapped into your Domain– he’s not your partner, boyfriend, anything–stop! He’s getting pulled further and further into this story.  Damn, you’re a tricky curse aren’t you? All that gentleness is a facade to hide the disdain and violence, “I…can…” He looks up to find you dangerously tip-toeing on top of a very, very, not made to be stood on like that office chair, you’re gonna–shit!  Falling right into his arms, a carefully wrapped gift lands on your chest. “My hero!” Don’t…don’t …he wants to tell himself, but a part of him does give into that expansion in the middle of his chest, spreading a soft hue of pink across his face. “I told you, I’m The Strongest.”   Faster than he can plan for, your lips brush his cheek, “Why thank you Mr. Strongest Satoru, can you please use this strength to pack up the cookies for Yuji? I gotta change.”  He places you back onto the floor, you turn around quickly again, he tenses a little less this time, “ You have to change too.”

“Alright, alright.”  This feels nice.  He’s not sure what the motive of your Domain is but regardless, it feels nice. Maybe if he plays along it’ll end. Whatever this…perfect life seems to be.  Your Domain is so good though, his eyes trace the photos framed on the walls. Moments of a…fake life? Between you and Satoru. A graduation, a birthday, a trip to a lake…baby Yuji? Nanami’s a dad ?   There’s even a photo of this baby Yuji with a baby Megumi and Nobara too. How intricate is this Domain? What kind of curse knows his students and Nanami? His eyes search for more photos of you, only painting a picture of a totally normal human. Not a sorcerer, not a window, not…anything Jujutsu related. And his photos too, why’s he wearing hoodies in all of these? Why’s his hair soft and down, how is he smiling so brightly?  Why the fuck is Suguru alive? “He’s coming too, he’s bringing the companion gift to go with ours. Hurry, go change.”  You again, this can’t be…this can’t be. Don’t look at him like that, don’t bring him a change of clothing, don’t. He starts walking backwards, searching, trying to source where the fuck your cursed energy is but there’s nothing for miles and miles just the sound of traffic and an ambulance. “Where the fuck am I?” “Home…Satoru?”  Your voice quiet, smaller, your eyes showing very human emotion, face riddled with concern. This can’t be real, this can’t be real. Gojo Satoru is The Strongest, he’s a sorcerer, he needs to be out exorcising curses not here in some domestic bliss watching television and baking cookies.

He’s not some physics professor.  He flinches away from your touch, your vixen softness, get away from him. “You’re not…Satoru this joke isn’t funny please stop now.” He walks backwards, and backwards, until he trips on a leftover lego car and lands with the biggest thud.  His head feels heavy, he feels your soft hands on his face again, nails accidentally scratching his chin, voice full of emotion, concern, love? Why would a curse love him? “Baby, Satoru are you okay?” Don’t call him that. Don’t make his heart feel like that. As his eyes close, “Satoru?” “Satoru? “Satoru?”

💎

Gojo Satoru wakes up in his office, the luxury sofa stiff under him.  He sits up, eyes immediately searching for any curse energy, anything reminiscent of your shape, your form, your gentle smile.  “Finally, you back to reality now?” Principal Yaga, “I don’t know what kind of joke that was, don’t do it again.” He sits awake, the air lacking any scent of joy.  “We got a lead on the cursed object…” What the hell was that? 💎

He startles awake, hands over his head, pleading, “No, no, stop coming near me!”  Tumbles through the hodge podge of blankets toppled on top of him, bangs his knee into the coffee table, knocking his lesson notes and laptop to the ground.  “I’m….I’m back…?” A ding sounds through the apartment, he hears footsteps, knows those footsteps, blocks your path to the oven as he encases you in a koala grip hug. “Oh my god, you’re…you…” Kisses the top of your head, fighting all your protests to push away from him and get to the chocolate chip cookies, “Satoru, we are not eating burnt cookies. Move.” “No!” “Gojo Satoru off!”  He only tightens his hold. “No, no, no!” He just woke up from a terrible dream, a ridiculous no good, no happy ending, lonely dream.  He looked hot though. But when is he not hot? “Okay, okay, Gojo Satoru The Strongest, please, let me get to the cookies?” Your hands on his waist as you squeeze his hips. The Strongest? How do you know about that? He pulls you back, hands on your shoulders, leaning down,  those beautiful baby blues searching your eyes, you’re really, you right? You’re really his–”Baby, are you sure your head is okay?”  That soft hand to his cheek, that familiar scent. "I woke up from a bad dream.”  You squeeze his cheek, “Let’s talk about it okay? But the cookies..”  He narrates it, waking up in an empty office, a man, Principal Yana or something, forcing him into a car with a nervous businessman. Then a volcano head attacked him, “Like straight up, Mt. Fuji and all the fire just, fwoosh.”  His fingers make waves above the tuft of his soft platinum locks. "I called your number over and over and it didn’t work.”  That…warms your heart. “You woke up in a dream and looked for me?” He looks at you funny, like you’ve stated the sky is purple, that he stayed in the band with Suguru and they’re touring Australia right now –”Why wouldn’t I look for you?” 

Satoru, pulling you into his lap, pushes his face into the crook of your neck, “They wanted me to fight monsters and I wanted to be here with you. I had abs though.” "You still have abs, Satoru.” Your hand pulls a cookie from the plate, bringing it to his lips, “you know what I mean.” He mumbles while taking a bite. “I was like jacked. I wore this thing on my eyes but I could see everything, I could see like – like –  energy particles, shit I should’ve researched if–”  you grin. He’s falling into his usual auditory processing habit. Enthusiastic about anything physics, the universe, energy particles and atoms and just that look he gets. When he talks about his passions, the way his eyes light up, the way his mind is catching up to his speech, his whole body getting involved in the monologue, pulling you up, “Wait, I gotta write this down.” Refuses to put you down, takes you into the makeshift office and pulls out a dry erase, “They kept calling it Infinity? The force field around me, and then there was this…Ryo…bankai, thing–but babe, it doesn’t make sense, how could one human concentrate–” There he is. Your Satoru.

gojo in my mind, is not the type to hide how he moans. You know that tiktok audio where the man is screaming, “im new bro im new” while getting railed? that’s completely him except he’s on the bottom while you’re riding him.

you’re making your own soft mules and moans of pleasure while you ride him with your hands planted on his chest but god, he’s louder, obnoxiously louder.

his pale face is all flushed pink, some strands of his silver white hair sticking to his forehead while his mouth is open and letting out every curse and whiney moan bottled up in his throat, the beds squeaking but somehow he’s just louder.

“god you’re like some uh…. riding champing when it comes to riding my dick.” saying it breathlessly while you kept on grinding and riding him to your hearts content.

“and you’re mm-mmph…. very loud satoru..” before he could respond you slapped a shakey hand over his mouth.

EVERY UNIVERSE — viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: character death, death in childbirth, grief, delusion, kidnapping, obsession, forced role play, forced marriage, talks of having children, oral sex (fem receiving), sexual assault

MINORS DNI

Mark had fought wars. Conquered planets. Crushed civilizations beneath his fists.

But none of that had ever made his heart pound like this.

He knelt beside the bed, his fingers tightly interlocked with hers as she screamed through another contraction. His free hand pushed damp hair from her forehead, his chest aching at the sight of her tears, the strain in her face.

“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered, his voice barely steady. “Just a little more, okay?”

She didn’t answer, only squeezed his hand tighter. Hard enough that, if he were human, she might have broken something. But he wasn’t. And he wished more than anything that he could take her pain, bear it for her.

Another scream—then the sound of a baby’s first cry split the air.

Mark’s breath hitched.

The doctors moved quickly, cleaning the infant, wrapping him in soft cloth before carefully placing him in Mark’s arms. His son. His beautiful son.

His heart swelled, his chest so full he thought it might burst. He turned immediately, eager to share this moment with her. But then he saw her. Too still. Too pale. His smile faded. “Y/N?”

She blinked slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on her. But then, she gave him the smallest, softest smile. “Remember,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “I’ll love you in every universe.”

The monitors shrieked.

“Her heart rate’s dropping!”

“We’re losing her!”

“No—no, no, no—” Mark clutched her hand tighter, desperate, pleading. “Stay with me. Stay with me, please.”

Her fingers, so warm, so full of life just moments ago, slowly went limp. Mark watched helplessly as the light faded from her eyes. As her breath hitched, then stopped. A sound tore from his throat. A broken, wounded thing.

The doctors moved around him, shouting, working. But he already knew. She was gone. His love. His heart. His one weakness. Gone. The baby in his arms whimpered softly, unaware.

Mark barely breathed as he pressed his forehead to hers, his grip on her hand unrelenting, as if he could keep her here by sheer will alone. He had conquered galaxies. But he couldn’t save her. And something inside him shattered.

The nights were always the hardest. Mark sat in the dimly lit nursery, cradling his son against his chest. The baby had finally fallen asleep, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of Mark’s shirt, his breath warm and steady.

Mark exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s forehead. “You look like her,” he whispered.

It had been months. Months of waking up to an empty bed. Months of staring at the space beside him, hoping—praying—that maybe it had all been a nightmare. That she’d be there, smiling at him, telling him he was just being dramatic. But she wasn’t. She never would be. A knock at the window broke his thoughts.

Mark turned, already knowing who it was before he even saw him. Nolan. His father hovered just outside, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Mark sighed, carefully laying his son in his crib before stepping onto the balcony.

The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. Nolan wasted no time. “You can’t keep doing this.” Mark stiffened. “Doing what?”

“Wasting away here,” his father said, gesturing toward the nursery. “I know you’re grieving. But you’re still Viltrumite. You have responsibilities.” Mark’s jaw clenched. “My responsibility is to my son.”

“Your responsibility is to your empire,” Nolan corrected. “Earth is filled with beautiful women, Mark. You could find someone new. Move on.”

Move on?

Mark’s hands curled into fists, his rage simmering beneath the surface. His father’s words shouldn’t have surprised him, but they did. “There is no moving on,” Mark said coldly.

Nolan shook his head, sighing like he was dealing with a stubborn child. “One of your duties is to repopulate the Viltrum Empire. You know that.” Mark’s stomach turned.

His father made it sound so… mechanical. Like love didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter. Mark took a step forward, voice dangerously low. “Get out.” Nolan studied him for a long moment before nodding. “You can’t run from your duty forever.”

And with that, he was gone. Mark stood there for a long time, staring into the empty sky before finally going back inside.

His son stirred slightly as Mark sat beside the crib, brushing soft curls from his tiny face. Mark exhaled shakily, leaning down to press a kiss to his son’s forehead.

“I would never replace your mother,” he whispered. “She was one of a kind.” His voice broke on the last word, but he didn’t care. Because it was the truth.

The blood wouldn’t wash off. Mark stood in the ruins of another battlefield, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. The bodies of fallen rebels littered the ground, their broken forms barely recognizable.

They had fought back. Resisted his rule. They were gone now. It was becoming easier.

The rage came quicker, burned hotter. The grief never left—it only morphed into something sharper, something ruthless. A blade he wielded without hesitation.

He used to be better than this. But she had made him better. And now she was gone.

“Sir?” A Viltrumite soldier approached cautiously, as if sensing the storm beneath his skin. “The planet is secure.”

Mark didn’t answer at first. He flexed his fingers, still slick with blood, before finally nodding. “Good.” That was it. No mercy. No remorse. Just another victory. Another hollow, meaningless victory.

⸻

He barely slept. When he did, it was worse.

The nightmares were relentless. He saw her face—smiling, laughing, whispering his name—only to watch it twist in pain, her body growing cold in his arms again and again.

Mark would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, reaching for her—only to find the bed empty.

Always empty. His son was the only thing keeping him tethered.

The boy was growing fast, his mother’s eyes staring up at him with innocent curiosity. But Mark could see it, the way the nannies and caretakers whispered, the way the guards stiffened when he passed.

They were afraid. Of him. And maybe they should be. He wasn’t the same man anymore. He was a weapon with nothing left to lose. And without her, he was slipping. Falling. And soon, he knew, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.

Mark sat alone in his war room, staring at the holographic projections of his conquered territories. Planets bent to his will. Armies at his command. An empire expanding without resistance.

And yet, none of it mattered. It was all meaningless. His fingers tapped against the table, his mind drifting, drowning in memories he couldn’t escape—until a voice interrupted.

“Well, well. You look even worse than I expected.”

Mark’s eyes snapped up. Angstrom Levy stood before him, his usual smug expression in place. The air around him crackled with residual energy from whatever dimension he had just stepped through.

Mark’s body tensed immediately. “You have five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I rip your head off.” Angstrom merely chuckled, unbothered. “I wouldn’t be so hasty. I have something you want.”

Mark’s glare darkened. “There’s nothing you could offer me.”

Angstrom’s smile widened. “Oh, I think there is.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if I told you… you could have her back?”

Mark’s breath caught. His heart—cold and empty for so long—lurched violently in his chest.

Angstrom’s grin grew at his reaction. “There’s a universe out there where she’s alive. Whole. Untouched by tragedy. You could see her again, hold her again.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. “…What’s the catch?”

Angstrom tilted his head, feigning innocence. “That universe—it’s a problem for me. I need it gone. And you… well, you’ve never had an issue destroying things, have you?”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it.” The words left him almost too fast, his desperation barely contained. Angstrom chuckled. “No second thoughts? No moral dilemma?”

Mark’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t care what happens to that universe. I don’t care about anything except her.”

Angstrom nodded approvingly. “Then we have a deal.” He reached out a hand, and without hesitation, Mark took it. A deal with the devil. A promise of salvation. And the only thing standing between him and his wife—was the destruction of an entire world.

Mark stood over his son’s crib, watching as the small child blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. For a moment, just a moment, the weight of what he was about to do pressed against his chest. He reached down, brushing soft curls from the boy’s forehead, memorizing every detail—his tiny hands, his mother’s nose, the way he reached for his father without hesitation.

Innocent. Oblivious. Mark exhaled sharply. He couldn’t waver now. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, voice firm. “And I’ll bring your mother with me.”

The child let out a small babble, reaching up. Mark allowed himself a single moment of hesitation before pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead.

Then he stepped back, handing him off to the waiting caretaker. The woman held the child close, but her eyes were nervous, wary. She should be.

Mark turned without another word, his cape billowing behind him as he left the nursery. Angstrom was waiting, a smug expression on his face. “Touching.”

Mark didn’t acknowledge the comment. He didn’t care what Angstrom thought. All that mattered was the portal crackling before him, swirling with unstable energy. A gateway to another world.

A world where she was alive. Without hesitation, without fear, Mark flew forward. And as the portal swallowed him whole, only one thought consumed him. Finding her.

Scorched Earth

The sky burned.

Buildings crumbled beneath his fists, entire cities reduced to nothing but dust and ruin. Screams echoed through the streets, but Mark barely heard them.

He moved like a force of nature—unstoppable, unrelenting. This world didn’t matter. These people didn’t matter. Only she did.

Somewhere in this universe, she was alive, breathing, unaware that he was tearing apart her world just to reach her.

Angstrom had delivered on his promise. The coordinates, the exact places where she might be. But Mark wasn’t going to waste time searching quietly.

He would burn this entire planet to the ground if it meant finding her faster.

A hero—a version of someone he might have once called an ally—flew at him, fists glowing with energy. Mark caught his arm mid-strike, crushing bone with barely any effort before throwing the man through a collapsing skyscraper.

A woman in a high-tech suit fired at him, shouting something about surrender.

Mark punched clean through her chest, barely sparing her a glance as her body hit the ground. None of it mattered. None of them mattered.

He flew through the smoke-choked air, eyes scanning the ruins below. The scent of fire and blood filled his lungs.

Then—he saw her. Or rather, a version of her. Standing in the middle of a shattered street, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Mark’s heart pounded.

He landed hard enough to crack the pavement, stepping forward, fists still bloodied, eyes wild. Her lips parted, confusion flickering across her face. “…Mark?”

A broken breath left him. It was her. It was really her. For the first time in years, his heart felt like it was beating again.

His muscles loosened, his breath shaky as he took another step forward, reaching out— But she took a step back. And the look in her eyes wasn’t love. It was fear. Mark’s fingers twitched. His mind screamed at him that it didn’t matter, that she would understand, that she would see soon enough that he was doing this for her.

A tremor ran through the ground as another explosion shook the city. Smoke curled in the air between them. Mark clenched his jaw.

No matter what she thought now—no matter how much she resisted—he had already decided. He had come too far. She wasn’t going to slip away from him again. She took another step back.

Mark’s stomach twisted. He could hear her heartbeat, the sharp, uneven rhythm of it. Not with love, not with relief— With fear. “No,” he said, almost pleading. He took a step forward, closing the space she was so desperately trying to create between them. “It’s me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Her eyes darted to the bodies, the fire, the shattered remains of her city.

He followed her gaze, and for the first time, he saw what she saw. Not a lover. Not a husband. A monster. Mark swallowed hard. “I did this for you.” She flinched.

His hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to run to him, throw her arms around him, tell him she’d been waiting. That she’d missed him as much as he missed her.

Instead, she was trembling.

“Stay away from me,” she whispered.

Mark froze.

She didn’t mean that. She couldn’t.

Not her.

Not after everything he had done—everything he sacrificed—just to see her again.

The ground trembled as another explosion rocked the city. Her gaze flickered to the destruction, then back to him. And she ran. Mark stood there for half a second, stunned, before instinct kicked in. It didn’t matter. She could run. He was faster.

Before she could take three steps, he was on her, an iron grip closing around her wrist. He barely registered her gasp of fear as he spun her toward him, crushing her against his chest.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, his entire body trembling.

“I lost you once,” he murmured. “I’m not losing you again.”

She shoved at his chest, panic lacing her every movement. “You’re not my Mark—”

His grip tightened.

“This universe tried to take you from me,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “I won’t let it.”

She whimpered, twisting in his grasp, her struggles growing weaker against his impossible strength.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “No matter what happens,” he whispered, “you’re coming home with me.”

She was so still in his arms.

Mark barely heard the others as he landed in front of the house—Debbie’s house. Or at least, the version that existed in this universe. His mother wasn’t here, not really. None of these people mattered.

But she did.

Her unconscious body was warm against his chest, her face relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen in years. He held her just a little closer.

The other Marks were already gathered, watching him with varying expressions. Some amused, some indifferent.

“Why the hell did you bring her?” One of them, sporting a yellow and black suit, frowned. Mark didn’t even look up. “She was part of my deal.”

Mohawk! Mark scoffed, smirking. “Look at this guy—so pussy whipped he traveled across dimensions!”

A few of them chuckled, but he didn’t react. Viltrumite Mark growing annoyed with the Mohawk variant, spoke. “Where is Angstrom?”

The others shrugged, murmuring amongst themselves. Then, as if on cue, a green portal cracked open before them.

Viltrumite! Mark barely paid attention to the conversation that followed. He knew the drill—Angstrom would send them all home, back to their respective worlds, back to the wars and chaos and bloodshed that defined them.

But for once, Mark wasn’t thinking about any of that. His attention remained on the woman in his arms, his fingers absently brushing against her back. He’d spent so long fighting, so long clawing his way through blood and ash, just for this moment.

For her.

The portals to their dimensions flickered to life. The others began stepping through, disappearing one by one.

Mark adjusted his grip on her, cradling her closer as he moved toward his own portal.

And then—he was home. His warships still filled the sky. His empire still stood, unshaken. The weight of responsibility loomed overhead, but none of it felt as heavy anymore. Not now. Not with her back in his arms.

He gazed down at her peaceful face, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “Welcome home, my beloved,” he whispered.

She stirred in his arms. Mark felt it instantly—the faint movement, the shift in her breathing. His grip on her tightened instinctively. She was waking up. Good. He wanted her to see.

Mark flew straight to the palace, the grand structure carved into the remains of a conquered world. It loomed over the city, a symbol of power and absolute rule. His soldiers bowed as he passed, their gazes flickering to the unconscious woman in his arms, but none dared to question him.

Inside, the halls were cold and vast, built for a king, not a man. The walls were adorned with war banners, artifacts of his victories. He had everything—an empire, an army, a legacy that stretched across the stars.

And now, he had her.

He entered his private chambers, stepping past the balcony that overlooked the city. With careful hands, he laid her down on the large, ornate bed, adjusting her so she rested comfortably against the soft fabric.

Mark sat beside her, watching, waiting. A soft sound escaped her lips. Then, slowly, her eyelashes fluttered, and her breathing hitched. She was awake.

Her eyes met his, and for a brief second, there was nothing but confusion—until it all came rushing back. The invasion. The destruction. Him. Her body tensed, her breathing sharp and uneven. Mark reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She flinched. His expression darkened. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

She shoved at his chest, scrambling backward. “What did you do?” Her voice trembled, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar room, realization sinking in. “Where am I?” Mark caught her wrist before she could move any further. He pulled her close, forcing her to face him.

“You’re home,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched. “No—no, this isn’t—” Mark shushed her, pressing his forehead against hers. “I know it’s overwhelming,” he whispered. “But you’ll see. This is where you belong.”

She trembled in his grasp. “You killed all those people—”

“I had to.” His voice was firm, resolute. “I did it for you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but Mark only held her closer, his thumb tracing gentle circles against her wrist. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmured. He wouldn’t let her go. Not this time.

Mark sat on the throne, fingers drumming idly against the armrest, his gaze locked on her.

She sat on the edge of the massive bed, stiff and silent, her hands gripping the sheets as if they were the only thing grounding her. She hadn’t spoken since he’d told her she was home. She was still processing. That was fine. She had time.

The heavy doors creaked open. Mark didn’t look away from her as his father stepped into the room, his presence as commanding as ever. Nolan was one of the few people who could enter without permission, but even he hesitated at the sight before him.

Mark finally turned, watching as his father’s eyes landed on her. Nolan stilled. His brows furrowed. He took a slow step forward, then another, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know how you managed to do that…” Nolan muttered, eyes flickering between Mark and the woman sitting frozen on the bed. Then, to Mark’s satisfaction, his father’s lips curled into something almost approving. “…But good job, son.”

Mark’s chest swelled at the praise. Nolan looked at her again, studying her face—the same face that belonged to a woman who had died years ago. He exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

“Interesting.” His gaze turned to Mark. “And she remembers you?”

“She will,” Mark said simply. She let out a shaky breath, looking between the two Viltrumites towering over her. “You—you can’t just keep me here—”

Nolan huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s feisty.” Mark smirked. “She was always like that.”

Nolan clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “She’ll learn. Just like the rest.” Mark nodded. He already knew that. She would understand. In time, she’d accept her place. She had to.

She shivered under his touch. Mark’s hands lingered, tracing the curves of her waist as he helped her adjust the fabric of the Viltrumite clothing. The white and gray fit her perfectly, the gold accents catching the dim light of the room. It was a queen’s attire—his queen. He slid his palms over her arms, up to her shoulders, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the curve of her neck.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin.

She tensed but didn’t pull away. He took that as progress. His fingers interlaced with hers, his grip firm yet careful. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the door. “It’s time you met your son.” She halted mid-step.

Mark turned, watching the shock ripple across her face. Her son. A sharp breath left her lips. “You’re lying.” Mark’s expression softened—just slightly. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She stared at him, searching for deception, for some cruel trick. But there was none. Slowly, cautiously, she allowed him to lead her forward.

As they walked through the towering halls of the palace, her hand still in his, she realized there was no escaping this. No waking up from whatever nightmare she had been pulled into. Because this wasn’t a nightmare to him. To Mark—this was a dream fulfilled.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The nursery was warm, quiet, bathed in soft golden light. And there—nestled in the crib—was him. Her baby boy.

She froze in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe. He was so small, so perfect. He had her nose, her eyes, tiny fingers curling in excitement as he saw her. Then—he babbled, reaching out. Her legs felt weak.

“He recognizes you,” Mark murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand found her waist, warm and possessive, gently pushing her forward. “His mother.” Tears welled in her eyes.

She wanted to run to him, to scoop him up, to hold him close and never let go. But fear held her in place. This wasn’t her world. Wasn’t her baby. And yet—when he let out a tiny whimper, his arms still reaching—her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She stepped forward, hesitantly, and carefully lifted him into her arms. He cooed, tiny hands grabbing at her clothes, his warmth pressing against her chest.

A sob threatened to escape her lips. Mark’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as he watched the scene unfold. “See?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “This is where you belong.”

Days passed in a blur. She barely spoke. Barely slept.

Her son—Mark’s son—never left her arms for long. Every time she tried to distance herself, the child would fuss and cry, his tiny hands gripping onto her as if he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t supposed to leave. And Mark… Mark was always there. Watching. Guiding. Touching.

His hands were never far, resting on her back when she carried their son through the halls, brushing against her waist when he led her to meals, tilting her chin up when he demanded her attention.

He never forced her, never raised his voice. But his presence was suffocating. And yet—she couldn’t bring herself to fight him. Not when he looked at her like that. Like she was his entire world.

Not when their son—her son—clung to her, trusting, innocent, unaware of the war raging in her heart.

The palace was beautiful, grand and open, yet it felt like a cage. She could roam wherever she wanted, but there were always eyes on her. Viltrumite soldiers nodded as she passed, but there was no mistaking their purpose. They were guards. Watchers.

Mark didn’t treat her like a prisoner. But she was one. And the worst part? The longer she stayed, the more the thought of leaving terrified her.

Dinner was quiet. It always was.

Mark sat across from her at the long, polished table, their son nestled in her lap, babbling happily as he played with a small golden trinket. She barely touched her food, only picking at it while Mark ate with a steady, satisfied ease.

Then, casually—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said it. “We should have more children.” Her hands froze. More? Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as she processed his words.

She hadn’t even had one child—not really. Not in this life. This wasn’t her son, not the way Mark believed. And yet, he spoke as if she had been his wife all along, as if nothing had changed.

Like she hadn’t changed. She swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the fabric of her dress. His wife’s dress. The realization hit her like a blow. The way he dressed her, in fine silks and intricate embroidery—his wife’s clothes. The way he touched her, lingering, reverent—as if she had always been his.

The way he guided her, suggested how she should wear her hair, what jewelry suited her best—the way his wife had worn it. He was trying to replace her. No—not replace. To bring her back. Her lips parted, her throat dry. Mark watched her expectantly, his gaze warm, unwavering.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, affectionate, like they were having an ordinary conversation between husband and wife. “What do you think?” She forced herself to breathe.

Her son—not hers, not really—giggled in her lap, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening in the air. Her pulse pounded in her ears. What did she think? She thought she was drowning. She couldn’t answer.

Her throat tightened as she stared at him, at the quiet expectation in his eyes. He meant it. Every word. More children. A future. A life she had never lived, but one he had already decided belonged to her.

Her fingers trembled against the fabric of her dress. Mark’s hand reached across the table, covering hers, grounding, steady.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Is something wrong?” Everything. Everything was wrong. But she couldn’t say that.

Not when his grip was so gentle, yet so firm. Not when his thumb traced slow circles against her skin, comforting, possessive. Not when their—his—son looked up at her with bright, adoring eyes, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

She swallowed hard. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

Mark chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I know it’s a lot to consider.” His gaze softened, his fingers still trailing against hers. “But we’ve lost enough time already.”

Her stomach twisted. Lost time. To him, she had always been his wife. His love. The mother of his child.

And now, he wanted more. More memories that weren’t hers. More children she had never carried. More years stolen from a life she had never lived. Her silence stretched too long. Mark’s smile faltered, just slightly. His fingers tightened, just barely.

“…Y/N?” His voice was still soft, but there was something else now. A quiet warning. She forced herself to meet his gaze. Lying to him would be dangerous. But the truth—her truth—wasn’t an option.

So she did the only thing she could. She nodded. Mark exhaled, his smile returning in full force, his grip on her hand loosening just enough to feel like reassurance.

“I knew you’d understand,” he murmured. She forced herself to smile back. And inside, she screamed.

She lay in bed, stiff as a board, her body refusing to relax even as Mark’s arms encircled her.

The weight of his presence was suffocating, his warmth pressing against her side. She kept her breathing steady, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to will herself into some form of calm.

But Mark noticed. Of course, he did.

He shifted, rolling on top of her in one fluid motion. The air in her lungs stilled.

His bare chest pressed against her, his warmth inescapable. He was only wearing his pants, his body solid and strong, caging her in beneath him.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch feather-light, almost tender.

“I was broken without you,” he murmured.

She sucked in a breath as his lips brushed against her neck, slow and lingering, his hot breath fanning over her skin.

“I’m so glad to have you back.” His voice was full of raw emotion, of something aching.She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t right.

She wasn’t who he thought she was. But he believed it. With every touch, every kiss, every word, he believed it. And if she told him the truth— Would he even listen?

She shouldn’t feel this way. Her body shouldn’t be trembling beneath his touch, her breath shouldn’t be coming out in soft, uneven gasps. She shouldn’t want this.

Mark’s hands roamed her skin with slow, deliberate purpose, his lips dragging over her neck, her collarbone, lower. Every touch was practiced, familiar, like he had done this a thousand times before. Because he had. Just—not with her. Not really. But her body didn’t know the difference. Her body responded to him as if it did.

His fingers found the sensitive spots she didn’t even realize she had, his touch coaxing heat from her skin, his mouth whispering promises against her throat—mine, always mine, never leaving me again.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to hold back the traitorous sounds building in her chest. She hated him. She hated him.

He was a monster. He stole her from her life, tore her from her world, forced her into a role that was never meant to be hers. He was selfish, obsessive, violent.

But his hands were gentle. His voice was soft. His lips worshiped her as if she was something precious, something irreplaceable. And the worst part? Some part of her liked it.

Guilt twisted in her stomach, hot and suffocating, but it wasn’t enough to stop the shudder that racked her body as his fingers slid lower, as his voice murmured praises against her skin, as he played her like he had done this a thousand times before. Like he knew her.

Like she had always belonged to him. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push him away, to remind herself who he really was. But her body betrayed her. And Mark knew it.

“Please” she begged, her hands shaking as she holds onto his shoulders. He kissed her mouth silencing her weak protests, she couldn’t even fight back. He pulled up her nightgown pulling down her panties. He tossed them aside, pulling her night gown over her head, he kisses down her chest, to her stomach, and finally to rest in between her legs. He moves her legs on his shoulders as he licks up her slit, using her fingers to open her folds, inserting two and thrusting. She quickly grew wet at his actions, her body acting on instinct, as he sucked on her clit, circling around the sensitive bud. Her legs clenched on his head but he paid no mind.

Continuing to eat her out like a starving man. She threw her head back, moaning helplessly. She wasn’t a virgin, nor was inexperienced in oral sex in any means— yet all her past relationships never made her feel this good.

Her breath hitched as his fingers worked her apart, his touch agonizingly slow, purposeful. Every stroke, every brush of his lips against her skin, was meant to unravel her. And it was. Her body responded before her mind could fight it, hips shifting, breath catching, a soft, humiliating whimper slipping past her lips.

Her nails dug into the sheets, and she pulled his face closer to her warmth, she felt him smile against her. She squirmed and panted, “wait— I’m gonna” she cut herself off with a moan, and he added another finger, her walls stretched around him. She whimpered, feeling herself get close. He didn’t stop, if anything he worked harder. And soon she came, he licked her up, slupping up her juices. As he pulled away from her pussy, thin strings of cum connected his face. He just wiped it with his hand.

Mark chuckled against her throat, low and pleased. “See?” he murmured, dragging his tongue along her pulse. “Your body remembers me.” She clenched her fists, shame burning through her even as heat pooled in her core. No. No, it doesn’t. This wasn’t hers to remember.

But the way he touched her—like he knew her inside and out—made her question everything. This was how he touched her. His wife. The woman he had lost. The woman she wasn’t. Her mind screamed at her to shove him away, to fight, to remind him—remind herself—that this wasn’t real.

But her body betrayed her. Mark lifted his head, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, drinking in her trembling form. His fingers teased, coaxing more from her, more reactions she didn’t want to give, more proof that he had already won.

She felt her resolve slipping, her body giving in, her mind clouded by pleasure and something far, far worse—acceptance. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, claiming kiss. “You were made for me,” he whispered against her mouth. And God help her—some part of her believed it.

Mark held her close, his arms wrapped around her as if he were afraid she might vanish if he let go. His grip was firm but not suffocating, his warmth engulfing her, steady and unyielding.

Her breath was slow, steady against his chest, her body slack in sleep. He brushed a hand over her hair, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Good. She was adjusting.

It had been difficult at first. She had been quiet, withdrawn, hesitant—but now? Now she was soft in his arms, pliant beneath his touch. She was his again. Mark closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, satisfaction settling in his chest. Things were finally falling into place. She had fought it—he had expected her to—but she was coming back to him.

She was coming back to herself. He just had to be patient. She loved him once. She would love him again. He would make sure of it.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t see—was the war raging beneath the surface. Because she wasn’t asleep. Not really. She lay still, eyes shut, body curled against his, pretending, forcing herself to stay limp in his hold.

Because if she moved, she would break. She hated him. She had hated him from the moment he took her, from the moment he looked at her with that kind of love, from the moment he touched her and convinced her body to betray her.

But now—now she didn’t just hate him. She hated herself. For letting this happen. For not fighting harder.

For letting herself feel anything other than disgust when he kissed her, when he touched her, when he made her his. For that one, fleeting moment where she almost—almost—wanted it. Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall.

Not here. Not where he could feel them, where he could comfort her, where he could twist her pain into something else. So she lay still. Silent. Hating him. Hating herself. And worst of all—hating the part of her that was terrified of the day she stopped hating it.

not this time .ᐟ

wherein both the jjk men and boys thought it was yet another one of your pranks but it turned out to be real (+todo slander just bc😭)

includes: gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, yuji, megumi, yuta and toge

24 Hours

request: a blurb where he actually gets mad at JJ when she confesses to love him but doesn't really say anything at the moment. But then when he introduces reader to the team as his girlfriend, JJ is being kinda rude to her. She tries to tell him she doesn't like her, that she's not good for him. And spencer gets mad and protective👀 maybe he even throws a "i'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not".

a/n: my return piece !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Word Count: 2.2k

Spencer sees red when he walks out of the jewelry store after shooting the unsub.

JJ is the first girl he has ever asked out, someone he pined over for years after her subtle rejection at the Redskins game. He understood her reasoning. It would have been impractical for them to add relationship highs and lows to everything the BAU has been through over fourteen years, and that's if they stayed together. If they hadn't, things would have been even more complicated.

Also she just generally didn't like him that way. Or so he thought.

It didn't mean she wasn't his ideal for many years. His first love, who had so many traits he didn't have that he desperately wanted.

His confirmation he would be unlucky in love came after that with Maeve, who he once again thought could be the one for him. And then he realized that maybe the person for him had been taken away from him.

Then he met Y/n, and it all seemed worth it. All those terrible nights of crying and feeling like he would forever be alone, all the times he was the only single one on the team, knowing everyone was going home to someone they loved unconditionally and relied on for support.

She's the sun and the moon, and he fell in love so fast he couldn't stop it. Luckily, she did too.

Until JJ fucked it up.

The truth she had to tell to get them out alive dropped an atomic bomb on his newly formed life plans.

Spencer doesn't speak to her that night as they finish their recounts and reports. She leaves it out, though, he discovers, opting to write the secret about her miscarriage instead of confessing her love for her best friend and the godfather of her kids.

It messes with his head the whole way home. He can't sleep on the jet, even if he wanted to as he tried to work out what he was feeling.

All JJ does is send him pleading looks, and all he does is get angry because how dare she do this now? After she had fifteen years of them working together, all those chances to tell him how she felt.

He would have married and had a family with her, the family he always wanted. It's always stayed in the back of his head for so long, and just as he sees someone else in that role in his dreams, she drudges all of it back up.

It's such a long flight, and he taps his foot the whole way while staring out the window, not even able to read.

He goes to Y/n's. He's not sure what he's going to say, how much of it he's going to tell her, but he needs to see her to cool off the fury boiling out of him.

"Hey, handsome." She calls out when he walks in the door as cheerful as ever.

He feels a pit of guilt sink into his stomach because he can't tell her without ruining everything they delicately have put together. Maybe it's wrong to lie by omission, but his brain keeps coming back to fault. And it's JJ's fault. She's the one who's jeopardizing everything.

"Hi, gorgeous." He replies, walking into the living room to find her laying on the couch, book in her hands and her head on the armrest. He's reminded how accurate the petname he calls her by is when he's taken off guard by her breathless beauty. "How are you liking it?" He asks.

"It's good." She answers, putting the book down. "But that's because it's very you."

She gets up, meeting him behind the couch to cup his jaw, stroking over his skin and staring into his eyes for a moment before kissing him properly.

He relaxes into it, the tension in his shoulders easing and his brain slowing down for a moment. It's heavenly, as always, and it's what being loved is meant to feel like.

"How was your case?" She asks when she pulls back, still not daring to move too far away from him.

He tenses instantly at that, totally readable behavior, but he's got to perfect excuse to play it off. "It was rough." He holds out his bandaged hand that he's been avoiding showing her. "I got hurt."

"Shit." She straightens up, noticing how big it looked. "What happened?"

"Cut it on glass." He answers, not going as far as to say where he was when it occurred. "I'm fine, though. Promise."

She nods, reassured. "We've got to be up in, like, six hours, you know?" She reminds him of the time.

With the amount of coffee and adrenaline in his system, he barely registered it was already past 2 in the morning. Usually, they would have stayed in LA for the night, but being home in time for Rossi's wedding trumped a good night of sleep for everyone.

"Can I sleep here?" He wonders, awkwardly looking down at his feet.

"Duh. I'm not going to kick you out and make you come pick me up so we can go tomorrow morning." She jokes. "Picked up your suit, too. You're going to look very handsome."

Spencer grins because she seriously can't get more perfect. She still feels so unattainable, but he'd do anything to make sure he doesn't lose her.

He really should tell her, but he can't. Not right now.

Y/n snaps him out of it. "Bedtime now?"

"Please." He agrees gratefully, keeping his arms wrapped around her while they walk to her bedroom.

He keeps her close while they go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Spencer quickly sheds his suit and both of them brush their teeth.

His head is on the pillow for only a few seconds before he's asleep, and she follows soon after.

The alarm going off isn't as much of a problem when Spencer is lying in bed next to her, arm wrapped around her waist. It's one of the things she misses a lot when he's away.

"Hi, beautiful," Spencer whispers, a husky voice as always. He's glad he fell asleep quickly, not having wanted to sit up thinking about the stupid things JJ has said. He just couldn't understand why it was coming up now. Sleep provided absolutely no clarity.

She grins at him. "Hi."

"Are you ready for today?" He asks softly.

"A little nervous," Y/n admits. The BAU is his family after all. His mom is there but the BAU has been where he's spent most of his life for the last 15 years.

"They'll love you." Because I love you. Spencer assures her.

She smiles softly, feeling a little better. "Let's get up then."

Spencer agrees, not before planting a few kisses on her lips and hugging her tightly.

They get ready side by side, feeling a great sense of domesticity. She's never gotten close to someone as quickly as she has with Spencer. Somehow, it's not scary that it's happened this way.

"Wow, you're very gorgeous," Spencer tells her as she touches up the final strand of her hair, adding enough hairspray that it won't fall out. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, admiring her. "Wow."

"Thank you." Y/n spins around to look at him in his deep maroon suit. It matches her dress color which she agrees looks very nice on her. "And you're very handsome."

"Ready? The car is coming soon." He says.

She nods, fixing her bracelet. "Let's do it."

There are still some nerves as the car takes them to the venue. Spencer does a good job of assuring her it'll be okay, his hand like a magnet to her thigh. He seems slightly off like there's something out of place, but she shrugs it off. She hopes he's being cute and afraid his friends still say something embarrassing.

The venue and interior are exquisite as they make their way in. She takes a deep breath before they come across the man of the day, welcoming everyone at the entrance. She has no doubt that the value of the artwork in this room totals her apartment and everything in it.

"Spencer." Rossi, supposably, greets him in a tight hug.

"This is my girlfriend, Y/n." Spencer introduces them.

As she expects, and as she was warned about by Spencer, Rossi pulls her in for a hug, immediately calming her nerves with his warm greeting. "It's so nice to meet you. This one won't stop talking about you." Rossi jokes, nodding at an increasingly reddening Spencer.

"It's nice to meet you too." She smiles. "Thank you for inviting me."

Rossi nods. "Of course, it's a pleasure."

And then the rest of the introductions begin. Everyone's so kind, like she expected. She's seen photos and heard stories but everyone seems to have more personality than he conveyed. She's quickly fast friends with Penelope and Tara who do their absolute best to make sure Y/n's feeling comfortable.

It's how she ends up being dragged onto the dance floor after the ceremony. Once the alcohol starts flowing, there's no more anxiousness left and some extroverted spirit has been brought out.

Spencer's not one to dance, but he's one to admire. Only Y/n, though. She looks angelic, despite the old-style dance moves.

He's so wrapped up in watching her that he doesn't register JJ's heels on the ground as she approaches him. It's only when she sits next to him that his head turns around to face her.

He waits for her to speak first. Hopefully, provide some explanation.

"Spencer." She says his name softly, almost like how he used to imagine she'd say it if they were together. Much to his surprise, she doesn't go into any detail about the bomb she'd dropped less than 24 hours ago. "I'm worried about you."

He doesn't hide his scoff. "Worried about me?" He repeats.

She goes for another tactic, trying not to get him mad. "You don't think you're rushing into this?"

"Rushing into what, Jennifer?" He spits back, snapping to anger. Using her first name drives the point home, almost unnecessarily when he sounds so angered.

"You know what I mean." She continues. "You've only been talking about her for a few weeks and now she's here."

He can't fathom that she'd suggest he's rushing into a relationship. He's been careful and deliberate, but Y/n's safe, and she's proved it time and time again.

"She's been part of my life for 6 months." Spencer fact-checks her. "And you said I seemed happier since I met her."

JJ stalls, regrouping before trying another angle. "She's just not what I expected. Is she really the type you should be with?"

"What does that mean?" Spencer states, more furious than ever. There's a chance he will fully snap at her and he wouldn't be sorry.

"I feel like you should be with someone extroverted." She suggests. "You know, someone to get you out of your shell."

Spencer needs a deep breath. "You're not being a good friend right now." He tells her much more calmly. There's not one thing he doesn't love about Y/n, whether she's more on the extroverted or introverted side."I'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not." It's not even what he expected to come out of his mouth.

"Spence-" JJ tries again to reason with him.

"No, don't you dare," Spencer says firmly. "You flew back and forth from New Orleans so many times to see Will, without telling us once and we were all accepting of your relationship. If you don't like my relationship, I don't care. But it's not too soon for me to know. We can talk about what you told me later, but for now, I'm going to dance with my girlfriend." Without another word, he gets up and walks off, leaving her a little gobsmacked.

Y/n frowns at him as he approaches the dance floor. "Are you okay?" She checks.

"More than okay," Spencer tells her with a soft smile.

"Dance with me then." She says, mirroring her smile and holding out her hand.

"I'd love to." He takes her hand just as a slow song comes on for them to sway together.

JJ gets ignored by him for the rest of the night, something unnoticed by Y/n but purposeful by Spencer. But it's fun. So much fun. And he's sure he wouldn't be having as much fun had Y/n not been there. She truly makes his day.

They're in the car later that night, parked near her apartment, ice cream eaten on the trip home. "I'm in love with you," Spencer admits when her laughter falls off after he tells a joke.

It's not a word they've said before.

Her expression is of pure shock, but joy quickly creeps in. "I'm in love with you too." She tells him, grinning.

And it's an entirely better confession than the one he heard 24 hours ago.

Caught Being Cringe .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, ino, toji

note: asking them who’s your {insert cringe} boy ! i saw this on tiktok and i hope yall get it lmao. be nice, this is the first time i’ve gotten inspo😭

warnings: suggestive, fluff, cringe pet names, mommy kink in choso, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

can you make a fic about babykuna being a mommys girl, like shes all soft and sweet and like a baby with mommy, and a little menace with her papa

the duality of miss babykuna must be studied. because with you, aka kunamama, aka the love of her little life, she is an angel. an absolute sweetheart.

she proudly parades around in the outfits you put together for her, giggling as she twirls in the mirror, her little voice echoing, "mama, we match!"

she shows you her good marks in school before showing them to anyone else, clutching the paper in her tiny hands as she beams up at you. "look, mama! i did so good! are you proud?"

she wisely sits next to you whenever you're getting ready—whether for a night out or just to bed—watching you with wide, adoring eyes. "mama, when i get big, i wanna be just like you."

your little angel.

but with dadkuna? aka kunapapa? aka ryomen sukuna?

…it’s like something demonic is awakened. like a switch is flipped.

"papa, you won’t believe what happened today."

sukuna barely glances up from his glass of whiskey, lounging on the couch with his arm lazily draped over the backrest. "yeah?"

"so there’s this girl in my coloring class?"

"mmhm?"

"she thinks she’s soooo cool," babykuna says, climbing up onto the couch beside him, crossing her little arms like a mob boss. “so i had to beat her.” sukuna quirks a brow. "oh?"

"yes." she grins—deviously. "she said her labubu was the best dressed in class. but i showed her mine and—" she claps her tiny hands together, cackling, "—she cried papa. she cried.”

sukuna takes a slow sip of his drink. "you made the mean girl cry by flexing your labubu?"

"yes." she tilts her chin up, victorious. sukuna smirks. "that’s my girl."

"i know," she replies, flicking her hair over her shoulder in the exact way she’s seen her papa do a hundred times. then she leans in, whispering, "also? guess who didn’t color inside the lines today?*"

"who?"

"the smartest boy in class."

"no way."

"yes way."

"and you?"

she smirks, eyes glinting like her father’s. "perfection, papa."

"that’s my fucking girl," sukuna grins, holding his palm up. babykuna slaps her tiny hand against his. it’s devil dad and devil daughter, thick as thieves. meanwhile, you stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the unholy alliance unfold.

"…is this what happens when i’m not around?" you deadpan.

"mama!" babykuna gasps, suddenly all sweetness again, running over to you and grabbing your hand. “papa said a bad word!” sukuna glares at her.

"you just called that kid a loser."

"*but you said the bad word, papa!"

sukuna groans, rubbing his temples. "you little traitor."

RAISING ITADORI YUUJI WITH CHOSO

This was hidden in the vault... Bringing it into light 🫣

Sukuna is the type of husband who NEEDS to hold you when he sleeps.

Before he started being in a relationship with you Sukuna had trouble finding sleep in most nights, probably due to his bad working routine and messy habits that got fixed after you came into his life. And now he can't sleep unless his wife is safely wrapped in his arms.

You could be watching TV after a day at work and Sukuna will come home next probably tired as hell and in need of a nap. He is quick to wrap his arms around your hips and gently take you into his arms as he carries you to the shared bedroom, Despite your endless protests asking him to take a shower first,

"Kuna you stink, go take a shower first"

"Calling your husband stinky? You wound me darling"

"Sukuna please.."

"Fine then, but we shower together"

"But I just showered-

"Too bad brat"

When it's time for sleep, he patiently waits till you're done with your skincare routine. And if you take way too much time for some reason, like your friend calling you at the last minute to spill the hot gossips of the day Sukuna is there to remind you he's ready and set for his bedtime by scoffing loudly enough for you to hear. Petty man.

Taking a pee at night? Grabbing a late night snack because you're hungry? Those are impossible to do without waking Sukuna up. The moment you sit up in the bed, he's already awake, grumbling in his sleep and asking what the hell are you doing before pulling you back to his arms.

That one time you managed to sneak out of the bed without waking Sukuna up. You mentally praised yourself for the victory as you snuck in to the kitchen to eat the last piece of the chocolate cake. Before you can even take 3 bites you hear footstep behind and when you turned to look, it's half awake and half asleep Sukuna with the blanket hanging by his hips like a toddler who ran out of their bedroom searching for their mom. He's scrutinizing his eyes at you, trying to figure out what the hell are you doing. Then he sees the chocolate cake and the icing around your lips and his face instantly takes a betrayed expression.

"Kuna-"

"So you left your husband, all alone, in this fucking cold weather just for chocolate cake?"

"We have a heater-"

"That's not the point, the point is how a chocolate cake worth more than your husband"

"okay now you're being dramatic"

"This is straight up gluttony"

"Sukuna!!"

It's gotten bad to the point where you can't even sleep one night away without feeling guilty because you know this man is wide awake and restless without you in the bed. Yet you wouldn't change a single thing. The way Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and safe while soft hum of his snores disappearing into the crook of your neck, it's everything you will ever need.

And you hope it never changes.

I would offer my entire chocolate stash for a Viltrumite Mark ver of them bath blurb

I'll take it, chocolate and tiramisu is a diabolical pairing.

Thank you for rqing!! I added full mask mark because he's a cutie patootie♡ pt. 1 here !! Based off this

Includes: Viltrumite, Full Mask

♡ Threatening him with no more baths together if he doesn't bail out of a fight immediately pt. 2

Viltrum Invincible:

I don't need it. I don't need it... IIII NEEEEEED IIIIIIIT!!!!

At first, he's almost offended by the threat, you think he NEEDS to bathe with you every time? No, no he definitely doesn't need to feel your skin against his in the comfort of bubbles and warmth. Definitely not.

"Fine, be that way...! Bathe alone!" He grits out, but the frustration was clearly placed in the enemy he was facing. You can tell based on how he's starting to move more frantically.

Usually the silver-white uniform remains clean whenever he has to deal with unwelcome guests, but this time? He figured he could get messy at the mention of a bath.

And when he comes back, he's glaring at you like you took away his plate from him mid-meal. "I told you I could handle it." He stomps his way to you, blood squelching under pristine shoes and tugging you in a hug; he always did this after being apart for a while but this time felt... calculated.

Pulling away from you, you immediately complain about whatever grime got on your clothes, he doesn't seem annoyed

"It's just blood, it's fine." He picks you up while disregarding your complaints and tugs you closely, flying out and heading back to your place

Looking down at your filthy clothes makes him happy, you can see him try to fight off the smug grin. "We should bathe together to... 'save water', as you say." He recalled your many complaints about the water bill, he didn't understand fully but he's glad he could use it against you.

Full Mask Invincible:

One of the only variants who actually listen to you, but tries to bargain.

He almost chokes on his own spit the moment the words leave your lips, looking away from the opponent. "What?! Y-you can't just drop that on me now!! (Name)!" He's frantically trying to get you to respond. "I can do this, I swear! Just gimme 5 minutes—"

The complaints die down when you decide to double down and tell him to bail out at once. "But—" "NOW!" And he's flying back with his tail between his legs.

He's okay with putting his ego aside for you, so he didn't have a lot of trouble ditching the pest to come to you, ultimately getting swapped out.

You felt guilty, he tugs off the mask that swallowed his entire head, letting his hair breathe as he looked down shamefully. "... look- I'm really sorry, you know I'm not used to just... giving up." He looked guilty, like he's sad he upset you.

It's only when you kiss his cheek and reassure him that he finally relaxes. "I wasn't serious, I'll take as many baths with you as you want. I'm glad you backed out when you did."

He hugs you close and although his suit was clean, he'd always come home sweaty from all the physical work, and you always smelled so sweet it makes his mouth water.

"So... you don't mind if we go bathe together now?" He didn't hide how eager he was, restraining a smug smile that almost looked shy.